The P. P. (anxious to disclaim any idea of recklessness). Just the time to pick 'em up cheap, if you know what you're about. And you see, we've had the drawing-room done up, and the wife wants something to fill up the space over her writing-table, between the fireplace and one of the windows. She was to have met me here, but she couldn't turn up, so I shall have to do it all myself—unless you'll come and help me through with it?
His Friend. Oh, if I can be of any use—What sort of thing do you want?
The P. P. Well, that's the difficulty. She says it must match the new paper. I've brought a bit in my pocket with me. His Friend. Then you can't go very far wrong!
The P. P. I don't know. It's a sort of paper that—here, I'd better show it you. (He produces a sample of fiery and untamed colour.) That'll give you an idea of it.
His Friend (inspecting it dubiously). Um—yes. I see you'll have to be careful.
The P. P. Careful, my dear fellow! I assure you I've been all through the Academy, and there wasn't a thing there that could stand it for a single moment—not even the R.A.'s!
[They enter the West Room.
In the West Room.
An Insipid Young Person (before Mr. Tadema's "Unconscious Rivals"). Yes, that's marble, isn't it?
[Smiles with pleasure at her own penetration.